


Make it that far

by hereticpop



Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-02
Updated: 2009-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/pseuds/hereticpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruki should come with a warning. Reita spirals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make it that far

I’m up at 3 a.m. looking for fresh sheets because he has just bled all over my bed. Why am I up at— Just don’t make a habit of showing up at my door so smashed, with clothes ripped, arm cut, and it looks like half of his face is missing too, blown off. The remaining half still wears the superficial smirk, probably his way of telling me that this mess of a person is really him. Has he got in an accident? Hell, I don’t even want to know. These days, it’s like every word he speaks becomes another stone weighing me down. And more than the heavy feeling itself, I hate the fact that he does it, turning me into a wreckage of who I used to be, one of his own.

It takes a few seconds before I realise that one, he’s dropped a cigarette on the carpet and two, I’ve stepped on it with a bare foot. It burns a hole. Keeping my face on, I wordlessly step away. Stupid of me to treat this as another challenge of his when I know that he’s not watching me. He can’t, his sight must be spinning right now nauseously round and round. He looks like he’s going to fall to the floor. I should grab him by the sticky mess that once was his hair and drag him outta here. Maybe kick down the stairs for good measure. Let him rot on a street until morning comes, if he can ever make it that far. Instead, I just help him up. Because yes, I am the one to draw lines between us, but he draws mine and the lines become arcs those hips are making. What the hell, just don’t. I need to take him to the bathroom. If only he could stop sticking his skin to mine.

He looks up at me, freezing all the motion. I notice his eyes are blue tonight. That’s fake. Underneath the blue there’s only muddy whirl of what he’s trying to hide with contact lenses and all of his stupid attire. His eyes have been blue for so long that maybe it’s real now. Maybe he does possess the ability to redefine reality after all. But I don’t want to go in that direction. Because I’m a part of his reality as well.

He stumbles past me and through the door, so suddenly that he could have gone through a wall and I wouldn’t be more stunned. Leaving a bright red trail behind. I can hear him from the bathroom. My wounded foot leaves matching red traces next to his. I’ll just let him throw himself up to the toilet, because that’s what he’s doing, trying to get rid of himself, to vanish. He never succeeds, though, so once he doesn’t have energy to move anymore, I’ll come to gather what’s left of him and put it into the shower to wash his chaos out. In the meantime, I bitterly watch from the place where I got by myself. When we were starting, there was no warning enclosed and I can’t stop wondering if I would have done this again, had I known what I was signing myself up for. I try not to wonder too much, though. At least not until he is asleep in my bed next to me. The truth is, we never make it that far.

I’m putting on my best mocking face. You won’t believe how rapidly the quality of my mocking faces increased since I met him. I can already see him wanting to borrow part of my face to cover his missing pieces.

“I should take pictures of your downfall to have something to smile to on rainy days,” I say and it’s a lie. Even on his knees and screwing up he still looks like a smudge of stardust. I used to be surprised he doesn’t vomit glitter. Then it wouldn’t burn his throat so much and inspire his so-called artwork, though, so I suppose it’s economically correct he’s still human.

“You should die,” is all I hear in response between one and another forced breath of toxically fresh air and I think maybe I should – after him. We both know one day I’m going to dance on his grave until the hollow in me that he’ll leave sucks me inside out.


End file.
